


Lullaby

by wilyasha



Series: Firewall [12]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Culture, Alien Gender/Sexuality, Alien Sex, Angst, Child Abandonment, Childbirth, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Knotting, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Non-Human Genitalia, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-06 15:59:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12214116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilyasha/pseuds/wilyasha
Summary: Thace loves his wife more than anything. He'll do anything to protect her, even with her headstrong temperament. With tension mounting around them and the Blades gaining more traction, the couple just wants a moment to themselves.





	1. Conception

**Author's Note:**

> This entire series really diverges from the canon timeline and ventures into AU territory. This interlude story in particular takes place approximately nineteen years before Team Voltron finds the Blue Lion. This also explores some of my own headcanons about Galra biology, reproductive organs, and sexuality. Honestly, this was also just an excuse to write alien smut, so yeah. If anyone needs anything else tagged, lemme know. 
> 
> Content Warnings: Keith's awkward nerdy parents doing it. But more seriously: alien genitals, Galra biology (heats/ruts and knotting, but no omegaverse), sexual content, and unplanned pregnancy.

The academy’s barracks are a large group of labyrinthine buildings. It is a bother getting from the main air field to the one building he is stationed in for high-ranking officers and administrators. Thace is exhausted as he reaches his personal quarters. He presses his palm against the identification pad, watching as his door slides open. He hastily steps inside, feeling a rush of cool air as the door slides shut behind him. 

“How were classes?” Larka asks from her seat on the couch. She is watching the news frequency on the holo-screen, her legs curled underneath her as she looks over at him. A snack bowl sits on the table with only a dusting of crumbs at the bottom. He’s noticed that she’s been craving comfort foods that she can shovel in as quickly as she can when she’s not at the archival temple. Even though she stress-eats, it’s unhealthy and he’s been meaning to tell her about it. 

For the past few phoebs, she has been visiting frequently. More of her things have shown up in his bedroom. It started with hairpins, and then extra undergarments and her toothbrush and tooth-file. Soon her clothing and druid robes were hung in his wardrobe, a few trinkets she kept with her when they first started courting sat on the bedside table. It’s almost as if she’s moved in and he doesn’t mind one bit. She isn’t holed up in the temples, but instead seeks him out in the barracks. He’s aware that it’s against protocol, but it seems that many officers turn their eyes down to the floor when they see the imperial princess walking down the hallway, armor sleek and clean beneath the soft fabric of her druid cloak. She has made herself comfortable in his absence, only wearing her undergarments. For once, she looks at ease.

“The cadets are learning,” he says, tersely. “I only wish some of them weren’t so hotheaded.”

“Overzealous?” she asks.

He shakes his head, scrubbing his hand between his ears and scratching at the soft crest of dark purple fur between them. His ears twitch along with the movement. “They think they know everything.”

She chuffs softly. He smiles.

Every time he leaves her in the barracks, he feels as if their marriage could be found out; that the next moment he sees Larka it would be in a cell being interrogated and prodded by druids. It had been hundreds of deca-phoebs since her betrothal with Sendak had been publicly broken, but Thace still feels anxious about Zarkon discovering their secret relationship. If he can keep track of her every moment of every day, it would soothe the tension in his chest. Splitting his time between mandatory assigned patrols, teaching cadets still wet behind the ears, and clandestine Blade meetings is making him stressed. He is becoming frustrated with his students, but Kolivan says it would be the right setting to find recruits, students who don’t believe everything that the Empire shoves down their throats. He is so caught up in his thoughts, he doesn’t realize Larka has risen from the couch and is now sliding the clasp open on his cuirass armor.

“Things will change when we are finally off this rock,” she says. Her words are neutral, but he can hear the anger bubbling beneath the surface. How is it for Larka? To see her father destroy more than half the universe. To see her brother in self-exile and yet still be chosen as the heir apparent… for however long that lasts. It has been an endless battle, ever since Altea’s destruction, between Larka and Lotor for the succession of the Galran throne. Lotor’s hatred for her only grows when he realized that she knew that they would never see that seat. Their father’s quest for immortality and longevity would keep him Emperor forever. In this new age of the Galra Empire, heir apparent is nothing more than an empty title. Though, Larka is not without her faults. She is confrontational when she’s comfortable, irritable when she’s not, and has the disposition of a mad scientist more than a sweet princess; their deca-phoebs together have taught him that. But she would be a better leader than the men in the imperial family. And Thace loves her, good and bad.

Thace feels his armor release, allowing Larka to pull the cuirass off. She peels him out of his flight gloves and the rest of his armor. He is about to ask her what exactly _is_ she doing when she unzips the flight suit, peeling it from his frame and scratching idly at the fur on his chest. He purrs lazily as she scratches him, the mauve hide beneath dry and in need of some cooling salve. She grabs his hand, her sharp-nailed fingers tickling at his palm as she pushes him towards and onto the couch. Thace sighs in relief, but the feeling is short lived. He immediately tenses when Larka straddles his lap, a smile playing at her lips as she raises a dark eyebrow. He takes a deep breath as she steadily rocks against him.

“You don’t smell like you’re in heat,” he comments.

“I’m not,” she purrs. “I just want to take care of you. Please. I know I’ve been neglecting you.”

His chest grows tighter. He could say the same. Even though she has been basically living here, the moments they do spend together revolves around him sleeping and her researching.

“You don’t have to take care of me, Larka,” he says.

She pulls away from his neck, where she has been nuzzling. Her brows are furrowed as her golden yellow eyes glow warm and bright. “But I want to and I love you.”

Ancients, she makes his head spin. How does the Imperial princess choose him of all people, a low-ranking pilot from a backwoods region of Daibazaal? His hands grip her waist tightly as her rocking turns into a light swivel.

“And after I’m finished with you here, you can take a bath while I make you a proper meal. None of that dehydrated nonsense from the mess,” she murmurs against his lips before kissing him. 

Thace growls, slipping his tongue into her mouth as she clacks her sharp teeth against his. One of his hands move up to grip her thick mane of hair, shining in the soft glow of his quarters. She leans in closer as he deepens the kiss. His other hand wraps around to the back of her undergarments, unsnapping the closure to peel it off her. He pulls away just in time to see her breasts bounce free of their wrapping. He moves in, nuzzling his face against her breasts, feeling the softness of her skin. It feels good to be back here, pressed against Larka as she lets out those soft whimpers. His lips capture a taut purple nipple and he suckles, his hands moving back to her waist. One of her own hands goes up to grip his shoulder, while the other disappears between them to glide lightly over his groin.

Thace sinks back, taking Larka with him. He moves around, her hand now having more room to rub. He chuffs, releasing her other nipple to rest his cheek against the swell of her breast. He can feel a warm wetness against his thigh, slicking just below the hem of his undergarments. He looks up at Larka to see a grin on her face. He smiles back, shifting around so that he can pull off her undergarments and then shuffle out of his own.

He licks his lips, swallowing hard. She slips her hand down and cups his lightly furred sheath. Her hand is so warm, but he can still tell that his length is hot. His rut is a fort-quint away and he hazily wonders why their reactions are so strong. Her thumb runs over the head of his cock. There are soft barbs just below the glans; on the rest of his shaft within its sheath are more barbs, followed by a knot at the base. His hands clench briefly at the thought of knotting Larka. Although they’ve never been embarrassed by their desires, he’s never knotted her, always forcing himself to pull out even during her heats and his ruts. But he can’t deny the thought of her writhing around on his knot, clenching and attempting to pull him in deeper. 

She softly tugs on his cock a few times for the sheath to instinctively pull away. She doesn’t hesitate, tilting her hips forward, she sinks down on his unsheathed cock. Thace grits his teeth to keep from moaning. She is so warm and wet and he can feel her tendrils unfurling from around her cervix to wrap around his length, milking him even as she lightly bounces in his lap. His hands grip her hips, claws digging into her flesh. He sits up a little to watch her. He sees the violet color of his cock, swollen and covered in fluids, as it slips in and out of her. The muscles of her abdomen clenching and unclenching as she rides him. Her breasts bouncing, the tight dark nipples still wet with his spit.

The scent coming from her slick is heady and for a moment, Thace thinks that maybe Larka really is in heat. Perhaps her cycle has changed, triggering his rut. Her tendrils stroke him, even as she tightens around him.

He curses under his breath, his hands trembling. They have left her upper body and are now clutching her thighs. His gaze lifts to her face. Her own eyes are heavy lidded as she gazes at him lazily. She is grinning, all her sharp teeth exposed. One of those purple translucent tendrils tangle around the soft barbs beneath the head of his shaft. He groans, his hips bucking up to meet hers. Her tendrils play with his barbs, even as she swivels her hips. It is almost enough to make him come right there. Her hands grip his shoulders as she starts riding him harder, faster, and he can’t help but grip her backside, thrusting up into her. He lets out a stifled moan, wanting to bury his face against her shoulder in embarrassment. But she leans forward to lick his mouth, kissing him as his teeth bite her lower lip. She pulls away, whimpering, pressing her breasts against his chest. 

She’s usually more talkative during sex and he wonders if her mind has blanked out like his own, strangled by the sensation of their bodies moving together, over and over again. 

“Let me here you, Larka,” he pants, bringing his hands to her waist and squeezing.

“My love,” she says breathlessly. “Give me your knot, please, please, _please_.”

He groans out another curse as he feels her hand between them, pressing at the base of his cock as his knot starts to swell and press out of his sheath. He can feel his heavy balls tightening. Slick is pouring out of her, drenching him as he thrusts up, hands clenching around her waist. A strangled moan escapes her lips as the knot presses in, her orgasm teetering her off the edge as she convulses against him. She whimpers, her cunt clenching and tendrils pulling him in. His knot catches on her opening and with a tight grip, he roughly shoves himself inside her as he comes. 

Thace clutches her close, pressing soft kisses to her neck. She is still jerking against him, tightening around his shaft and knot. Larka whimpers when he snarls against her, teeth sinking into the already swollen bonding gland. She tightens around him even more, claws scratching at his shoulders.

“Thace, Thace, Thace…” she pants.

He mouths at the bruising skin just between her shoulder and neck. Her tendrils are furling back up, scooping his seed closer to the opening of her womb as she still clenches rhythmically. 

“Quiznak,” he curses, as the warm glow of their orgasms slowly dissipate. One of his hands move up to comb through her tangled hair. “We’re going to be stuck like this for a while.”

“I know,” she purrs, curling up against him as best as she can. 

“Are you sure you’re not in heat?” he asks, pressing a kiss against her temple. “I’m not upset or anything. Just that was…”

“Unexpected,” Larka supplies. “I’m not sure. I thought I had a while before it would happen.” She presses her lips against his jaw, before idly scratching at the same dry spot on his chest. “Remind me to pick up some oil for you.”

He chuffs, knowingly. He briefly remembers the five unopened bottles of oil he shoved beneath the sink that she’s already purchased for him.

They stay in silence. Thace doesn’t want to think about what is to come. Kolivan wants him to apply for a position at Central Command. He doesn’t know how to approach the topic with Larka, but perhaps she could come with him. But around her father, their secret meetings would be fleeting. Could they even continue with this relationship? Should they? What would happen if the Emperor was made aware of it? The caste system is everything to Zarkon, both before _and_ after the war. He would not take it well if he discovers that Larka had broken off her betrothal with Commander Sendak to be with an officer of Thace’s rank. A soldier more suited for the academy rather than field operations. Could he protect her from the Emperor’s wrath? They could barely protect their own people.

“I love you, too,” he says, suddenly. “You know that, right?”

Slowly, Larka looks up at him. His hand tangles in her thick hair, a few curls snagging in his claws. Her own sharp-nailed hand comes up to press against his cheek, her index finger stroking his temple. She nods, pressing her lips against his.

\--

It is a fort-quint later when Larka finds out. She locks herself in the archival temple’s lavatory all quintant, before returning to the academy's barracks later. Thace is not home yet, but Larka has managed to swipe in and enter the high-ranking officer’s quarters without being approached by curious cadets or dutiful ensigns. She paces the den, stopping to stare at the couch where it had happened. There isn’t a doubt in her mind. She swallows around the tension forming in her throat. This cannot be happening. There are plans to be completed, recruits to be transferred, reports to be filed. Kolivan has even found a suitable new hub for the Blades as well as a few additional outposts. 

The door slides open and closes after Thace enters. He drops a bag near the wall as he lets out one of his infamous sighs. He stalls when he sees her. Larka bites her lip, her hands shaking at her sides.

Thace is beside her in a moment, concern furrowing his brows.

“Larka, what’s wrong?” he asks, his hands holding her face, thumbs stroking over her cheekbones.

She wants to whimper, wants to cry. She hasn’t done something like that since her mother passed away and she would give anything to climb into the woman’s lap now and beg for some guidance. 

“Thace,” she murmurs, her hands coming up to hold his forearms. “I’m pregnant.”

Larka watches as his eyes widen, looking away for a moment, but never letting her go. “Are you sure?” he asks, turning back to look at her. 

She nods. “I took a test. I double checked. I even had a bio-scan,” she pauses. “All the tests came back… I’m pregnant, Thace.”

He slowly presses his forehead against hers. She lets out a shaky breath, thankful that he hasn’t kicked her out of his quarters. That he’s still with her. That she can smell him and feel his warmth.

“I’m happy,” he says.

Her eyes widen as she pulls away. “What?”

“I’m happy,” he says again. “I’m happy that you’re my wife. And I’m happy you’re carrying my cub. You’ve made me happy, Larka.”

Tears prick at her eyes and she embraces him, holding onto him tightly. She feels him kiss her forehead and his fingers curl in her hair. She realizes what this means. They’ll have to leave Gal. She doesn’t trust her father. She doesn’t trust her brother. But she does trust her husband. And she trusts the Blades.

With a smile, she says, “I’m happy, too.”


	2. Childbirth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warnings: For Galra childbirth and biology, alien genitals, alien customs, child abandonment, and an unhealthy heaping of angst.

Larka paces across the room, her back aching. After eleven phoebs of carrying this stubborn and kicking cub, she is relieved that they will soon arrive. For the past thirty-six vargas, her labor has made her belly heavier, a sudden shift in the weight of the cub’s usual position. Her back aches and her legs feel like lead but she needs to pace. It’s the only thing that calms her. She knows she sounds like a child, wishing her mother was still alive. But Larka doesn’t care. Honerva would know what to do: how to soothe her and tell her when she should call for the midwife. She wants to ask her mother how it felt to deliver her and Lotor. Did it feel this stressful? Was Lotor as stubborn as this cub? 

Ancients help her if her cub turns out like her brother. And holy quiznak, Larka wants to rip out her own spine!

She paces a few more ticks before sitting down on the couch. Larka hisses as her abdomen cramps, clenching her teeth as a wave of sharp pain radiates through her core. She takes a deep breath.

“That’s okay,” she murmurs, “I can handle this.” She’s about to coach herself through another wave when the door swipes open and Thace comes in. His shoulders are squared as his ears flatten anxiously.

“He should be here in a bit,” he says, quickly rushing to her side. 

He places a clawed hand on the swell of her belly. Larka still can’t believe that she managed to hide this cub under the thick fabric of her druid robes. It had been difficult to accomplish, but she withdrew from the temples stating she desired a sabbatical. They didn't deny her, thankfully. 

“How long?” Thace asks, rubbing across the swell, trying to ease the tension.

“I-I didn’t really count the contractions since you left,” she admits, realizing how unprepared she really is. Thace has been keeping track of most of her cramping since her labor started. “For some time now?”

Thace nods, his free hand moving to take her chin and press a kiss to her forehead. A light knocking disturbs them and Thace rushes over to swipe their visitor in. Kolivan enters with a large bag, his hair swept up in a topknot. He says no greeting, only heads to the bedroom. Thace follows him, leaving Larka to begin pacing again just as a wave of pain returns.

“…not calling one!” Thace sounds irate and Larka rolls her eyes. Now is not the time to argue. She clenches her jaw, baring her teeth to the throbbing pain. 

Larka waddles her way to the bedroom to see her husband and friend rolling out soft blankets across the bed and piling extra pillows in an attempt to make her a nest. 

“We need to call a midwife,” Kolivan says, smoothing out the sheets and patting them. “The cub will come soon and you and I can’t deliver it ourselves.”

Thace sucks his teeth before helping Larka into the bed. 

“What happens if the midwife turns on us?” Thace asks, desperation in his voice. “You do realize how dangerous this is—”

“I will handle it,” Kolivan says. “The both of you just worry about the cub.”

His words do little to calm her or assuage Thace’s anxieties. Another wracking contraction swells and crests and she’s worried when her water will break. She presses her hands against her belly, rubbing it softly as Thace and Kolivan continue to bicker. She shakes her head. She’s just about to crawl across the bed, desperate to settle in this haphazard nest, when she feels a slick wetness trickle beneath the skirt of her nightgown. She grimaces as the damp fabric clings to her thighs and the weight of the cub shifts uncomfortably. Larka just wants to curl under the bed sheets and will her body to perform what it will instinctively do. Instead, she sits on her knees, hoping the gravity will help. 

“Are you both finished prattling or can one of you get me that midwife?” she asks, gritting her teeth. She wants to push so badly, but all she can do is grip the bed sheets. “You could get a druid at this rate and I wouldn’t care.”

Kolivan says nothing as he leaves.

Thace has a frown on his face and she knows what it’s about.

“Have you ever delivered a child, Thace?”

Her husband narrows his eyes, moving closer to sit near her and press his hand to her lower back. He rubs soothing circles, shifting her forward so her weight isn’t focused so much on her knees. 

“Stop being sarcastic,” he answers. “We’ve kept this secret for so long, I’m just worried. Perhaps we should have told your father about us.”

“Oh, yes,” she hisses. “Yes, let’s just tell him about the Blade of Marmora, too. That would go well. Great idea.”

Thace sighs, placing his hand against her belly. She grits her teeth, knowing she’s being rude. 

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes, letting her head lull forward, her hair curtaining her face from view. Her eyes water as another contraction rushes over her. She moves back, leaning closer to Thace as he kisses her forehead. “I just want the cub to come out. Nothing is happening and I feel like I just wet myself.”

He rubs her stomach and it’s only soothing for a moment before she feels another contraction. She doesn’t know if it’s her current hyper-focused senses, but she can feel the tension as her tendrils unfurl, yet they cling close to her cervix. Larka knows, even with the questions she would have asked her mother, that the Altean woman would have not had an answer about Galra childbirth. The pressure in her back feels red hot and the rubbing is doing nothing to settle the pain. 

“Punch me in my quiznaking spine,” she says, teeth clenched tightly. 

Thace freezes, eyes widening. “What? I’m not punching you in the back. Are you _joking_?”

“No, I’m serious,” Larka murmurs, “just punch it.” It feels like the cub is pushing every organ aside in his struggle to get out and she has never felt more in tune with her innards than right now. Ancients, she wants to push. “Perhaps we could have told him,” she says. “But that time has long since passed.”

She doesn’t trust her father to have let her stay married to Thace. More importantly, the ideals of the Empire do not support her ideals alongside her fellow Blades. 

Her eyes widen with a fresh sensation, an imperative desire to push. Her left hand clings to Thace’s arm as her other snakes down to feel at her opening. It’s not so comfortable in this position. She moves forward to brace herself as her tendrils caress against something foreign and warm.

“Kolivan isn’t going to get back here in time,” she cries. 

Thace tenses, lifting away to resettle facing her. He grabs her chin, trying to get her to look at him, but she’s fixated on the sensation in her lower half. The throbbing pain and ripping stretch and the silent whimpering as a small body shifts lower. The pressure is almost blinding, but it’s eased by the idea of pushing. She bears down, focusing on her tendrils as they ease her cervix even wider and the cub slips down. 

“Larka,” Thace whispers, his hand tracing down to her opening. “Are you sure you want to do this in this position? Do you want to lean back?”

She shakes her head, leaning forward on all fours and slightly swaying as she bears down again. 

“What do you need me to do?” he asks, sweeping back her hair. 

“My blade,” she hisses. “It’s in the bottom of the wardrobe.”

He doesn’t question her wishes, only scrambles across their bed and dives into the wardrobe, throwing flight suits and druid robes across the floor until he finds her blade in its sheath. His own blade sits beside it. Larka pushes again, her arms stretched out in front of her as her lower region burns and throbs and pulses. The tendrils tug gently, easing the cub out, rotating the little body until its shoulders slip free. With the last remnants of her pain and the ache against her spine, she reaches between her legs, feeling the cub tumble into her hand as her tendrils deposit the baby from the womb fluids. They caress the child before furling back up.

“The cord, Thace,” she hisses as her body still wracks through the throbbing and burning. 

Thace unsheathes the dagger before taking the cub from her hand and cutting the umbilical cord. He holds the cub, rubbing its body and making sure it's breathing after he drops the blade. When Larka hears the first shrill cry, she collapses, her body wrung dry as it still cramps and shudders. 

“Larka.” She can hear the grin on his face without even having to look. “Larka, he’s like my dam. He’s _cogliarket_. He’s a healthy cub, my love.”

The boy keeps crying and she smiles at the sound.

“Well, this is unexpected,” says a voice at the doorway. “I would have thought you’d be due a bit later on, perhaps another fort-quint. But no matter, another gift to Emperor Zarkon’s great forces.”

It would almost be comedic the way Thace and Larka look up at the doorway. The figure standing beside Kolivan has Larka reeling back across the bed, despite her soreness. 

The child is still crying in his father’s arms, but Thace doesn’t move.

“I’m sorry,” Kolivan croaks. “I was on my way to the east infirmary and Malax saw me.”

The druid shakes his hand flippantly as if Kolivan’s words have no meaning before moving closer to Thace and the cub. Larka grips her blade as she sits up, moving to place herself between the druid and her family. 

“I’ll kill—”

“I’m not going to harm the cub,” the corrupted Altean says, but there’s a grin on his face that Larka can’t trust. “I was going to assist you in the birth, but it seems that you have always been one who does the unexpected.”

“What do you want?” Thace asks from behind her.

“I’m on your side, Princess,” Malax states as if it’s the most obvious fact in the world. “There are druids who are loyal to… Zarkon, and there are those like me, who are loyal to Honerva’s daughter. We’ve been watching and waiting, and now your cub is born and we can move forward with our plans.”

“You’re asking us to trust you?” Kolivan snarls. “You just assaulted me and claimed you could help her, but she’s given birth already. What’s stopping me from killing you right here?”

Malax releases a long drawn out sigh. “I don’t care what you three and your band of misfits are planning. I don’t care if you’re rebelling against the imperial throne or if the princess is planning to run away with her lover, but I do care if Lotor kills that child the moment he sees it. And I do know that you need a safe way off this planet.”

“My brother has no reason to kill my son,” Larka says, her hand gripping the hilt of her dagger tightly. She feels the slow slide of the placenta forcing its way out and the throbbing comes back. Could she kill this druid in the state she’s in? 

“You may be the people’s princess, but your brother has made himself a martyr to every half-breed on Gal. He made a statement when he put himself in self-exile. It looks like he sacrificed himself even when he has his father’s favor,” Malax pauses. “He’s showed devotion to those like him.” 

Her cheeks heat up in embarrassment. She doesn’t want Malax to see her like this and she’d rather sleep after such a long labor. 

“Your brother is wily, Larka,” the druid continues. “Your mother knew that. You wanted to shield him from her, but he would have always turned out the way he did. It may have started as some weak attempt to keep the living members of the imperial family together, but he has a thirst for power and if your son stands in his way—”

Larka feels a snarl build in her throat and Kolivan moves forward to yank Malax out of the bedroom. She drops the blade and looks over at Thace. 

“He’s right,” she says. “We have to leave.” 

Thace looks resolute. 

“Kolivan has some Blades building a base,” he whispers. “We can stay at an outpost until it’s finished.”

Larka shakes her head. “I don’t want our son to live like this. I don’t want this for him.” It’s a topic they’ve glossed over and avoided ever since her belly began to swell. How were they supposed to raise a child during a lifelong revolution? Could it even be done? Or would he be safer far away from them?”

Thace hands the boy off to Larka before standing and heading to the den. He closes the door behind him and for the first time, Larka gets a good glimpse at her son. The boy has stopped crying, showing sweet chubby cheeks and eyes so similar to her brother’s. He looks more like Thace, but his skin is light lavender and the tufts of hair on his head are dark purple. She softly noses at his wet hairline, smelling blood and something earthy. She feels the wiggle of his stubby tail and she knows that Thace will have to dock it, as is tradition for their people. She doesn’t want to hear the yelping her son will make during that time. 

“Hey, little boy,” she coos, shifting to lean against the pillows. She leaves a trail of gore and blood from the placenta and she hastily kicks some blankets to cover it. She rubs her cheek against his face to scent him, only to feel the soft transparent whiskers on his cheeks that all Galra are born with, a vestigial function from a time when the Galra were strictly nocturnal. She knows they will fall away within two quintants, but will they even have two quintants together?

Cool sweat beads at her forehead and tears burn at her eyes. She wasn’t ready for this and she wants to keep the little cub next to her forever.

She takes a deep breath, kissing his forehead. 

“Kythel,” she says softly. “I’m naming you Kythel.”

The baby shivers, yawning and curling up closer to her chest. Larka grabs another blanket, bundling the child up. She fiddles around with the poorly constructed nest, stacking pillows and blankets to cocoon Kythel in some warmth. She limps over to the bathroom. Her body is sore and heavy with exhaustion. She washes up at the sink, wiping away the fluids from between her thighs and braiding her hair away from her face. 

She knows one thing for sure: Malax is not trustworthy. She knows of him from the archival temple, a druid interested in cloning science and she doesn’t want her son anywhere near him. Quietly, she cleans up the chamber as best as she can. Taking the dirty sheets and shoving them into a corner of the room. She then peels off her nightgown and redresses in a clean flight suit and some fitted armor. 

Larka wants to sleep right beside her cub, but they can’t stay here. Hundreds of scenarios race through her mind, but the one thing that sticks out is _how many other druids know that she was pregnant? _And does Haggar know? Larka goes back to the wardrobe, shoveling in some of Thace’s clothing and her own. She cleans off her blade, sheathes it and tosses it in the bag, too. She’ll remind Thace to grab his own before they leave.__

__While Kythel sleeps, she rubs him down with a damp cloth, cleaning him up before redressing him in a makeshift diaper and a new blanket. Her breasts are sore and she almost wants to wake up the cub to feed him, but Thace reenters the room._ _

__“You cleaned?” he asks, mildly shocked. He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. We’re leaving.”_ _

__\--_ _

__It’s two quintants later and they finally reach a familiar planet._ _

__“It’s different than last time,” Thace says, as he prepares the shuttle to breach the planet’s atmosphere. He had cloaked the shuttle a few vargas before they had reached the solar system and for a good reason. There are satellites and a large space station orbiting around the water planet now. The dominant species has had much progress in the last ten thousand years. Thace looks back to see his wife pacing behind the cockpit; Kythel is tucked into a sling against her chest. Her forehead is creased with worry and a pang of guilt makes him bite the inside of his cheek. “Larka, sit down. I need to land this.”_ _

__As if she herself is on autopilot, Larka takes her spot in the adjacent seat, belting herself in and clutching at Kythel as if he’ll fall from the sling. She has been eerily silent throughout their trip, not even mentioning Malax or Kolivan or the fact that Kolivan has given him the final order that he’ll apply for the lieutenant position at Central Command. Kolivan is ordering her to oversee the construction of their new headquarters while publicly denouncing the Galra Empire. There is the unspoken reality that it may be a while before they ever see each other, let alone Kythel._ _

__He lets go of one of the acceleration toggles to allow them to slowly get dragged into the planet’s gravity. His hand travels to her thigh, squeezing thoughtfully. Her hand grabs his and she holds it. He smiles. She’s still with him, even though she’s probably thinking about how much she doesn’t want to do this._ _

__“He’ll be safe here,” Thace says, breaking the silence again. “The Blue Lion will be on the same world as he is and all will be good. No one will find him here.” He knows that’s a lie. He knows what Malax had told him and Kolivan. It makes him sick to his stomach. He feels like he’s betraying his wife, keeping secrets from her when they’ve promised they never would. It’s the price he must pay, to keep Malax off the Blade of Marmora’s trail._ _

__He should have killed him, but it’s too late for that. He doubts he’ll ever see Malax again._ _

__“We could run away,” she says, finally. Her words are light. She’s still in pain from childbirth and all this movement can’t be good for her. She’s only dozed once during their trip and her eyes are glassy with fatigue. He wonders if she’ll struggle to perform the alchemy that is required. It takes a lot of energy to utilize a suppressive mutation inducement. “We could turn around and find some place to live. We can build a home somewhere and… and then we can find Allura and we can be safe someplace else. We won’t have to worry about Zarkon or Lotor or the Empire or anyone ever again. Just… we can just leave.”_ _

__Although she sounds as if she’s trying to keep it together, her voice wavers. It falters so much she wakes up Kythel and he mewls against her chest, lightly pawing. He’s hungry. Thace watches her out of the corner of his eye as she unzips her flight suit, revealing a breast so Kythel can instinctively latch on and suckle. Thace wants to do as she says, turn around and disappear, but they’re getting closer and closer to this place called _Earth_ … and they have their orders._ _


End file.
